


Self-Preservation Is A Road Straight To Hell

by Soul_Of_Fire



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I Have No Excuse For This One TBH, Knockout Regrets Life Choices, Knockout is one of my faves and I have no excuse to be this mean to him, Questionable Sobriety, Substance Abuse, TW:Substance Abuse, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-08 00:42:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17376260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soul_Of_Fire/pseuds/Soul_Of_Fire
Summary: Knockout struggles to be a Decepticon. Breakdown tries to pick up the pieces.





	Self-Preservation Is A Road Straight To Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Set some time towards the end of season 1 of Transformers Prime but before the finale.

The medbay lights were dimmed, little more than softly glowing, purple, night-lights. Knockout preferred it that way, dark and sombre, to match his mood. Darkness filled the room, creeping through every crack and crevice, covering his workstation, devouring everything in its’ inky depths. He sat amidst it, aft resting on the edge of the berth, servos limp on his knees, palms upwards. He felt fuzzy, overcharged, yet at the same time heavy. His pedes were thick and uncooperative, resisting his every attempt to get up, and so he had come to simply sit here, gazing at the pitch black wall, off set by the persistent glow of those purple lights.

He was beginning to hate purple, in all its various forms. Dark Energon. Pah. What had Megatron been thinking, bringing that stuff on board? He had treated over a dozen troopers for exposure to the stuff in the last vorn alone, burning through their stock of regular, middle grade energon collected from various deposits around the world. But, who was he kidding. Megatron didn’t give a scraplet’s aft about the welfare of his troops, he had all but said so, with his declaration that those who fell to the dark stuff’s taint were too weak to be a part of his army anyway.

Knockout vented a sigh, glancing at the empty vial at his side, then over at the cabinet across the room. The distance was immeasurable on his unsteady legs, already far too affected by the mix of high-grade and chemical cocktails running through his overcharged fuel lines. On impulse, he scooped the vial into his servo and threw his arm forwards, watching the glass container slam into the opposing wall and shatter like so many shards of rain, spattering against the floor of the medbay in an unrecognisable heap.

He chuckled, the sound rough on his own audios, and lay back on the berth, letting his pedes dangle off the side while his helm rested on the opposing arm support. The darkness swallowed him too.

He drifted for a while, lost to the fog of intoxication and grief that overwhelmed his processor, forced it into a dazed state, not quite recharge, not quite shutdown.

The door hissing open snapped him from that state, his optics cracking open and taking several moments to focus. A voice bounced off his audios, low and concerned, and he rolled his helm over to see a bulky frame illuminated in the light of the doorway. He grinned, the expression feeling wrong even as it pulled at his faceplates.

“Breakdown.” His vocaliser was suffering the effects of his binge, too, and his voice was horribly slurred, even on the single word. He didn’t care particularly, though, raising a servo to shield his optics against the light streaming through the doorway. 

He heard his partner sigh, a heavy ex-vent that rattled through his sturdy frame, and the door slid shut as he moved into the room, coming to stand at Knockout’s side. For his part, Knockout felt no inclination to sit up, instead simply shifting his helm to meet the bright yellow optics of the bigger mech.

“You gotta stop doing this to yourself, Knockout.” There was a reprimand in his voice, low and impossibly soft. Knockout snorted air through his vents, clumsily pushing one elbow under him and levering his heavy body into a leaning position, craning his helm back to still see into his partner’s faceplates.

“And Megatron needs to stop killing his troopers, but,” He paused for an intake, his vents feeling a little funny even as he drew the air in and cycled it through his sluggish systems, “You don’t see him changing either.”

Breakdown sighed again, his faceplates twisting into an odd expression, somewhere between helplessness and concern. Knockout buried the urge to laugh, somehow sensing that would only make his partner feel worse, and instead shook his helm, one servo reaching out to latch onto Breakdown’s thick arm plating.

“They keep dying on me, Break. All of them. I try to-to fix them but, I just can’t. I can’t do this.” The words toppled from his lip plates with little care for his thoughts on them, tumbling into freedom and bouncing around inside his processor as soon as they reached his own audios. Breakdown shuttered his optics several times, his faceplates moving in a way Knockout had come to recognise as his default when he didn’t know what to do.

He needed to be anywhere but there, then. The urge came over him suddenly, pushing his heavy frame into action as he straightened, gathering his legs under him and pushing up with his servos. He stood for a moment, swaying, while his pedes struggled to hold his weight, before suddenly he was falling.

Strong servos clasped around his armplates, halting his fall before his helm could connect with the edge of the berth, and a harsh laugh ripped from his vocaliser. His optics scrunched shut, a heavy grin pulling at his faceplates as he fell against Breakdown’s sturdy frame, his arms limp at his side. Breakdown said nothing, one arm looping around his shoulder plates, careful of the small, sensitive plating under his shoulders, and tried to lead him back to sit on the berth again.

Knockout dug his pedes in, shaking his helm once against Breakdown’s bulky chestplates, feeling a slight tremor through his upper pedes. Breakdown conceded, and they simply stood there while Knockout drifted. He was vaguely aware of Breakdown speaking softly, of the sharp click that signalled the locking of the medbay doors, but he was too lost in his own processor to respond.

He could recall every one of the faces he had watched offline in the past vorn alone, every patient he had failed to save. Too slow, not good enough, not smart enough. The words bounced through his neural net like a wrecking ball, accompanied by the gruesome images of the injuries he had been too slow to repair, energon staining his digits, covering the floor, leaving trails a mile wide. Sometimes he wondered if the only reason Starscream brought back the injured troopers was to watch him suffer for his inability to save a dead mech. Primus but he hated Starscream.

The high-grade was wearing off, he realised somewhat belatedly, feeling returning to his numb frame, and he was suddenly aware of the shaking through his overcharged, unrested systems. He groaned softly into Breakdown’s chestplates, somewhat aware of the fact they had moved closer to the berth, despite his stubbornness. He was grateful for that, now, as the high wore off and he became suddenly and inexplicably incapable of holding his own weight.

He lay back against the berth, optics closed tightly and a grimace on his faceplate, those images still swimming through his processor. Breakdown’s bulk settled on the edge of the berth, his servo resting lightly on Knockout’s shoulder plates, and the red mech vented softly.

“I’m not always gonna be here to hold you together, Knockout. You need to stop doing this.”

He sighed an ex-vent, rolling his helm away onto his side and breaking the contact between them. He knew full well the truth of his partner’s words, knew he needed something other than the high-grade and the sensory dampers to get him through the rough.

But it wasn't that easy.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, backstory time. This fic was written exactly one year ago, in the process of plotting out a much more complex and character developing series of fics addressing Knockout's position as a Decepticon and eventual defection that will probably never see the light of day. Despite that, this work was mostly finished and capable of standing on itss own, so while browsing my archives of junk and refuse, I thought I might as well inflict it upon the world.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this random little piece and thank you for reading. :)


End file.
